


The Past Is A Grotesque Animal

by WeAreAllWeirdosHere



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Clarke, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Timeline, Canon Divergence, F/F, Femslash, G!P, G!P Clarke, Knotting, Multi, Omega Lexa, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Other, Pregnancy Kink, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreAllWeirdosHere/pseuds/WeAreAllWeirdosHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa has always had a keen sense of memory, yet of all the things she remembers, meeting Clarke Griffin remains to be the most vivid.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>As Heda, her people have always come first; but with Clarke around, Lexa might just beat them to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is set in the Omega Verse. All kinks present in omega verse are present here, although I have taken liberties in making that universe my own. For instance, the "symptoms" of being an alpha or omega doesn't show sometime during a person's eighteenth year (could come early, could come late). Omegas and alphas are generally more dominant that betas and therefore take positions of power. There are no male omegas in this world because I’m just not into that. Population: 70% beta 15% alpha 15% omega. Also, this is gonna be smut-tastic! Honestly, this was just supposed to be smut but then I felt bad and just built a whole plot around it. Also, this fic contains massive canon divergence because FUCK canon. Lexa is immortal, end of story. I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy. :D

Lexa has always had a keen sense of memory. She can recall a plethora of things with near inhuman accuracy—things that may seem trivial at face value but were of great importance in the grand scheme of things. She can still recall the day Nak, a gangly freckled boy from her village, elbowed her on the nose when she was four. He was built like a spider: long limbs with little to no body, always flailing about in one direction or another without a destination in mind.

They had been play fighting by the river, dodging each other's blows until the boy had gotten a little too eager with one of his parries. He turned too swiftly and attacked too aggressively, hurling a spider-like limb onto her face before she could even think of evading. She heard a sickening crack before blood began to gush in thick rivulets down her nose.

The face Nak made when he saw black drip down Lexa’s lips is forever burned into her retinas.

He stood rigid for a long moment, face contorted in an expression reminiscent of a newly gutted fish. Once the shock wore off, he screeched " _Natblida!_ " at the top of his lungs and broke into a full sprint back into the village. His freakishly long legs granted him with such great strides that Lexa couldn’t keep up.

He was too quick, too adamant, and far too eager for his own good.

All Lexa could do was trail behind him, running as fast as her short legs could afford. They weaved in and out of the undergrowth, evading gnarled branches and thick protruding roots with a grace that only a child of the tree clan could manage. She wanted to stop him. She wanted to latch onto his shoulder and drag him to the ground and cut off his tongue.

She didn’t want to be a _Natblida._

She just wanted to be free.

In the village, Nak yapped on about what he’d witnessed to anyone who would listen. It didn’t take long before the village chief cornered her at her parents hut. The man cut an imposing figure and she trembled in fear and in pain as he made a small incision on the inside of her palm. Her _nomon_ and _nontu_ could do nothing but watch. They had known Lexa to be a _Natblida_ since she was two, when the girl had stumbled clumsily upon a table’s edge and cut her brow. They did their best to keep her nature a secret. Eamon, their eldest, had died in battle. The other two children who followed him were considered impure and were casted out of the village before they could even crawl.

Lexa was all they had left.

Soon, they would have nothing.

The chief sent a runner to the capital to inform the _Fleimkepa_ of a newly discovered _Natblida_. Lexa remembers that night clearly, for the following morning she had to say goodbye to her parents as her new mentor Anya ushered her to Polis. That was the first and last time she’d see her _nomon_ cry.

On their way to the capital, Lexa had been a weeping mess. Snot covered her cheeks and the skin around her eyes blared an angry red, rubbed raw from failed attempts to curtail tears. Anya stopped her horse mid-way through their journey. She motioned for the warriors they’d been travelling with to continue on forward. Once the men were out of ear shot, she gripped Lexa’s face with a calloused hand, making the weeping girl turn from where she was seated.

“ _Hakom_ _yu daun goufa?”_ Anya asked. The young woman’s eyes held a warmth that looked out of place amongst her sharp features. _(Why are you sad child?”)_

“ _Ai gaf ai houm.”_ Lexa hiccupped. _“Ai gaf ai seingeda._ ” _(I miss my home. I miss my family.)_

Anya sighed. Her features softened for a millisecond before they hardened back into impenetrable steel. The grip she had on the Lexa’s face tightened.

“ _Heda don no seingeda.”_ She said. Her jaw was tight, her posture rigid. “ _Seingeda lid hodnes, en hodnes lid kwelnes. Bilaik ste fos gon loda ridiyo_.” _(The commander has no family. Family brings love, and love brings weakness. This is the first of many truths.)_

Anya was barely eighteen then, yet she held the stance of a seasoned warrior. The woman reminded her of the eye of a storm: calm, quiet, and foreboding. She was lethal and tranquil and all the things a _trikru_ warrior aspired to be. Lexa remembers staring up at her sharp features in awe.

_I wish to be that strong one day._

In the capital, she trained day and night, her tiny body perpetually bruised and aching. She felt her soul grow heavier with each passing day. A burgeoning sense of dread and responsibility loomed overhead, threatening to collapse upon her form at a moment’s notice. She didn't know it then, but that stifling weight of responsibility would later encase her. It would seep into her bloodstream and make its way throughout her body, destroying any vestige of youth and innocence she had left.

Lexa remembers the moment she met Costia. She was twelve summers young and had wandered underneath a large banyan tree, seeking solace from the sun’s unforgiving heat. Costia had been lounging in the shade, weaving freshly picked wildflowers together to form a makeshift crown. Her mocha colored skin and jet black hair were illuminated by the small slits of light which danced in tandem with the tree’s swaying branches. She looked ethereal, and for a moment, Lexa wasn’t sure what to do.

Costia had smiled softly when their eyes met, and after the initial awkwardness brought by obligatory introductions subsided, they conversed in earnest about everything and nothing. They talked until the sun began its retreat towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pinks and blues as it descended below the mountains. When it became clear that they both needed to head back to their respective homes, Costia placed the crown of flowers atop Lexa's head. 

" _A crown gon na Heda._ " She said with a toothy smile, hazel eyes alight with mischief. _(A crown for the future commander.)_

That was the first time Lexa had ever felt her heart stutter.

They shared their first kiss three years later, under the shade of the very same banyan tree that had offered them solace. The kiss was tentative and soft and everything a first kiss should be. They shared a shy smile when they broke apart, excited yet unsure of what came next. She still remembers the first time they made love. They were sixteen, fumbling and nervous and filled with an eagerness that manifested itself into strangled moans and overeager caresses.

Lexa was called to lead that same year.

She had won her conclave by killing the children she had grown up with, the boys and girls she had called friends, the boys and girls she had loved. Her entire body was coated in black, the evidence of her victory. The crowd cheered and applauded, chanting _“Heda!”_ at the top of their lungs. Yes, Lexa was victorious, but she had never felt more defeated. She was sure that the darkness of her friends’ lifeblood had seeped into her very soul, dragging it down like an anchor.

When Lexa had been awarded with the spirit of the commander and given the commander’s tattoos, she had held her head high even though she felt like her insides were threatening to eat her whole. When she had made her way down the aisle and sat upon the throne of gnarled edges, shoulders heavy with death, she held her head higher still.

Commanders did not show weakness.

Anya had never looked as proud of her as she did in that moment.

Later on in life, in moments of silence, in between wars and tribunals, she would often think of Luna and what her life would have been like if she had ran away as well. She thinks she would have been happier. She would have been a coward, a disgrace, a traitor to the blood, but she would have been a happy coward. One that could laugh freely and love wholeheartedly. Life would have been easier, lighter, and filled with more moments of joy than she would know what to do with.

Lexa made a point never to dwell on those thoughts for too long.

They made her shoulders feel even heavier than they already were.

Her first heat came during the spring of her eighteenth year and Costia had tried her best to calm her down, blasting waves of Beta pheromones into the room Titus had confined her in. They spent three days in that stifling room, making love in a sweaty heap atop her bed, furs and clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor. Costia tried her best to sate her heats and while Lexa was grateful, it always felt insufficient.

She knew that only an Alpha could ever sate the emptiness gnawing at her belly but she loved Costia dearly and unlike most Omegas, Lexa had an astounding amount of self-control. She wouldn't hurt the woman she loved simply because her body demanded her to be knotted and bred. She was better than that, _stronger_ _than that_ , so she had never once strayed from Costia’s embrace. She would never love anyone as much as she did Costia. It was a truth that she’d accepted long ago—a truth that she tries to cling unto now.

She recalls the day her lover went missing, captured by the _Azgeda Kwin_. She'd been absolutely terrified. She thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest when a runner came into her war camp and delivered the news. She made her way to Polis that very evening. She knew of Queen Nia's brutality. Everyone did. The woman lived in infamy, and the queen reveled in the terror said infamy evoked.

Lexa had feared the worst.

The days that came after were wrought with tension. Under the threat of going into an all-out war with the eleven clans of the coalition, the _Azgeda_ were forced to negotiate. They realized, albeit begrudgingly, that the world they lived in was different. The commander was different and they had no choice but to play by her rules. In the past, it was easy to win a war. There were no solid alliances to speak of, and the _Azgeda_ has always had the largest and most brutal army. Now, they had multiple clans allied against them. All it would take for the Ice Nation to fall was a flick of Lexa’s hand.

Nia couldn’t have hated the girl more if she tried.

Costia was freed within the month.

Relief came to Lexa in the form of a battered girl. A young woman had limped to the capital's gates and immediately asked to see _Heda_ _._ When the guards realized who the girl was, they quickly slung her arms over their shoulders and hauled her to the nearest healer. Lexa had never been more relieved in her life. Costia was alive. She was beaten and bloody, but she was alive and she was home. Lexa made a promise then, to always protect those she loved, even if that meant setting them free. She knew then that as long as Costia remained hers, she remained in danger.

As she held onto her lover’s battered form, under the dim light of the healer’s hut, Titus’ words rang loudly in her ears.

_To be commander is to be alone._

The night she said goodbye to Costia had been one of the most difficult nights she’d ever had to endure, and she'd endured her fair share of difficult nights. The girl’s eyes swirled with so much grief and affection that Lexa struggled to maintain her gaze.

 _“Ai biyo moba, Kostia.”_ She whispered, jaw clenching as she did so. _(I’m sorry, Costia.)_

“ _Em ait, Leksa.”_ Costia murmured with trembling smile, tears flowing in heavy droplets down her cheeks. _“Ai ge em.” (It’s okay Lexa. I understand.)_

 _“Ai…”_ Lexa swallowed. Her emotions felt heavy against her throat—angry, bitter, and painful. _“Ai hod yu in otaim.” (I love you, eternally.)_

 _“Ai get in.”_ Costia’s voice cracked as she said it, her smile faltered into an expression of abject pain for a second, before her lips turned upwards once more. She looked lovely and broken. _“Ai hod yu in seintai, Leksa.” (I know. I love you too, Lexa.)_

 _“Ai hod yu in. Feva.”_ Costia whispered beneath her breath before taking Lexa’s lips into her own. _(I love you. Forever.)_

She tasted of salt and grief and of a love that could have been.

Lexa left Costia’s room in the morning. Their last night together had been bittersweet. Their lips ached with love and misery, swollen with promises they once thought they’d keep. The way they held onto each other felt desperate and bruising. Lexa had to loosen Costia’s arms off her just so she could breathe, but every breath she took still felt shallow and unfulfilling.  

That was three years ago…

Lexa has been alone ever since.

Her heats have been torturous and nearly unbearable. Titus has told her on many occasions to simply choose an Alpha to warm her bed. Warm, he had emphasized, not mate. For commanders do not have the luxury of mating. They led, fought, and fucked. A mate would only muddle their purpose.

Kris, the third commander before her, had taken a mate. He ended up losing sight of his people and in turn, his people raided the tower whilst he was away and took his mate and their two children from their beds. The mob burned his family alive in the middle of Polis’ square, amidst a cheering crowd of thousands, and then strung their charred corpses on poles like brutish ornaments. Kris’ reign fell soon after, when his head was lopped off by one of his generals in a public display.

Titus never got tired of telling her that story. He’d told it to her at least a dozen times and Lexa hated every single moment of it. The Flamekeeper talked far too much for her liking, but his advice was sound, so she would always listen. He held much wisdom. He served the three commanders before her and has seen the mistakes that let to their downfall. Lexa will not make those mistakes. Already, she has done more to ensure peace than all of the commanders combined. She will not destroy all that she’s built, even if that meant she had to spend the rest of her life alone.

Her people _must_ come first.

That is a lesson she will never forget.

Lexa has always had a keen sense of memory and she remembers a plethora of things. She remembers her first injury, her first goodbye, her first kill, her first victory, and her first kiss. She remembers everything with such clarity it’s astonishing.

And yet of all the things she remembers, meeting Clarke Griffin remains the most vivid.

The moment the Alpha had entered the commander's tent, fierce and strong and utterly unwavering amidst an entire army hell bent on killing her, Lexa knew she was trouble. The girl was too much of everything. She was too stubborn, too willful, and far too stunning.

She reminded Lexa of the rising sun.

Her presence was illuminating, life-giving, and the red gashes that littered her face did nothing to belie her loveliness. Her scent had been just as intoxicating. The blonde smelled like mint leaves and juniper berries and morning rain all crushed into one being. She didn't smell like metal or rust like the other two Sky people Lexa had met. Instead, Clarke smelled like strength and freedom and love which didn't make any sense then, but makes all the sense now.

Clarke was special.

Lexa knew that the very moment she laid eyes on her, and that... well, that was troubling.

After all, the sky and the ground never met for a reason.


	2. A Game of Survival

Clarke spots the rifle in her periphery before the first shot is fired. The gun had gleamed for a millisecond, moonlight shinning off its lens, when the man stationed atop the gates lifted its barrel to take aim. The scene reminds Clarke of the few action movies that had been preserved in the Ark. When she and Wells were children, they'd been obsessed with them. The two would stuff their faces full of peanuts, as they viewed each cinematic explosion with slacked jaws and wide, awestruck eyes. They would reenact their favorite scenes with whatever items they could find, and their fathers would often stumble upon them in makeshift forts, throwing balled-up socks at each other’s bases in attempt to destroy the pile of sheets and pillows they had dubbed as enemy encampments.

In those films, it was common for time to slow down whenever the protagonist found himself in dire straits. The universe seemed to always have the hero’s back, ready to aid, even if it meant bending the rules of time and space just so one person could have a few extra seconds to strategize. Those movies, like everything else on the Ark, were founded on lies.

Time doesn’t slow down for anyone.

If anything, seeing the gun made time speed-up exponentially. Clarke isn’t sure if it’s the adrenaline coursing through her veins that’s making everything seem like it’s happening in hyper speed, or if the universe just hates her enough that it never fails to give her the worst possible scenario. The Alpha wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be the latter. Her life, so far, has proven to be nothing more than a string of torturous events.

Things are passing so quickly that Clarke doesn’t have the time to form a coherent thought. Her body moves on instinct, and before she can even grasp what she’s doing, she’s bull-rushing Anya to the ground. The warrior lets out a grunt when she crashes face-first into the dirt, her already frail body is pushed to the brink of pain. Clarke tries to minimize any damage she could have caused by quickly rolling off the woman. Unfortunately, her movement alerts the men in the guard tower that their first shot had missed.

And that is the moment when all hell breaks loose.

Bullets begin to pepper the soil like heavy pelts of rain, billowing the leaves underneath them with a force reminiscent of an oncoming storm. The floor ripples like water, the impact of each bullet splashes bits of dirt into the air. A strange weightlessness seizes Clarke’s body, and she uses the last of her strength to heave Anya’s battered form off the ground. When the Beta stands upright, Clarke shoves her in the direction of the tree line, hoping that the dense foliage would provide enough cover for her to escape.

“Run!” Clarke yells.

Anya manages to give the girl a weak nod before she breaks into a sprint towards the forest, dodging bullets along the way.

The rain of lead never ceases and Clarke hurriedly falls into a low crouch. The girl turns quickly and shoots off in the direction of the camp, trying her best to reach the gates without instantly dying. She zig-zags her way towards her destination, hiding behind any large boulder she comes across to catch her breath. She manages to get within thirty feet of the wall, when a bullet pierces her right shoulder. It enters and exits her flesh within a millionth of a second, but the throbbing pain that accompanies it stays and multiplies.

“Fucking bitch!” The Alpha roars at the top of her lungs. The volume in which she screams her words makes her teeth rattle. Her colorful use of language causes the guards to pause. The men glance at each other with confused expressions. Their hands are still planted firmly on their weapons, but their fingers have slackened against the trigger.

Grounders do _not_ speak like that.

“Wait! Don’t shoot!” A disembodied voice commands from behind the gates. Clarke doesn’t have to look up to know that it’s her mother. She’s heard the woman yell a thousand times before.

“Chancellor, we don’t know who’s out there.” One of the guards says. His words come out in a rushed whisper, but Clarke hears him nonetheless.

Superior hearing is one of the few perks that comes with being an Alpha, along with a heightened sense of smell. Not that Clarke has ever experienced the latter. In the Ark, Alphas were given a bi-annual dose of olfactory suppressants to help curtail any Alpha-to-Alpha aggression. Their scent riled each other up, and the last thing the council needed was a bunch of Alphas fighting for dominance. A hormone induced riot in a metal box floating around in outer space was something to be avoided. So, for as long as she can remember, Clarke has only smelled the barest of scents. It was sort of like having a cold that just never went away.

“Exactly.” Abby’s snarl brings Clarke back to the present. “That could be one of ours out there!”

As much as Clarke wants to listen to her mother tear the guard a new one, she’s starting to lose consciousness. She doesn’t have enough time, patience, or blood left to listen to a bunch of adults argue over their next course of action.

“Mom!” The blonde bellows at the top of her lungs. Her voice is gruffer than usual but her mother recognizes it, regardless.

“Oh my God, that’s Clarke! That’s my daughter! Open the gates!”

The uniformed men hesitate for a second, apprehension apparent in their furrowed brows, as they exchange worried glances. Abby has to repeat herself once more before the men finally decide to carry out her demand. The camp’s heavy gates let out a groan as they swing open, filling the silence of the woods with a sound so artificial that Clarke is immediately reminded of home. The Ark had been filled with the din of moving metal, a constant mechanical whirring echoed through each room, reminding its occupants that they lived inside a dying machine. It was comforting for Clarke to hear a sound bereft of any natural quality.

All of a sudden, time begins to slow. Clarke would have laughed at the irony had she not felt like she was legitimately dying. The world around her is spinning in crude half-circles, making it impossible to focus on a single object. Everything, including the ground, is shifting.

Clarke feels like she’s on the dropship all over again, hurtling through space at incredible speeds only to crash-land into the earth.

Fearful that she’d keel over, the young Alpha perches herself on the floor. She settles on her knees atop a bed of dead grass and brings the hand gripping her wounded shoulder to her face. She balks when sees nothing but red coating the length of her hand and forearm.

_That can’t be good._

Her bullet wound feels like it’s on fire. It feels like someone had just poured acid into her shoulder, and it was now burning through her flesh from the inside. She’s in bad shape and she knows it. Her entire body feels like one mangled, barely-functioning mess, and it’s taking everything in her power just to keep her eyes open.

She’s never felt so tired.

Clarke isn’t sure if it’s the blood loss, or the trek to camp wherein Anya basically dragged her on a leash, or the whole ordeal she had faced trying to escape the mountain that makes her feel like she’s about to fall asleep. Her limbs feel heavy, and her head feels like it’s about to collapse onto her chest. Clarke is so exhausted that she barely registers the clunking of metal against metal as the guards run towards her, and barely hears her mother cry out her name in a strange mixture of panic and relief. The last thing she sees is the ground, and then, there is nothing but black; peaceful—but unwelcome—black.

 

* * *

 

Anya doesn’t know how long she’s been running. All she knows is that she needs to keep moving. With each step, her body is ransacked by a bout of pain. Her skin feels tight against her flesh, like someone had pulled chunks off her dermis and stapled whatever was left back into her body. Her muscles are sore and spasmodic, locking up and slackening in the most inopportune times. To make matters worse, her entire face feels like one huge gaping wound. Yet despite everything, Anya forges on. She is a _trikru_ warrior, through and through. Pain does not faze her.

 _Kom kik raun, ste kom laudnes_. _(To be alive, is to be in pain.)_

Her wellbeing is inconsequential. Her mission is paramount. Anya _needs_ to make it to tonDC. She needs to inform _Heda_ about what lurks inside the mountain. It is the memory of her people in steel cages—the memory of them being strung up and bled like cattle just so the _maunon_ could continue breathing—that keeps her legs moving. She can’t afford to rest. Her brethren are being leeched dry. They are being tortured, experimented on, and tossed into mines to feed _ripas._ Alpha, Beta, Omega, the mountain men took indiscriminately.

“ _Wuskripas_.” Anya snarls into the night. _“Emo wuskripas.”_ _(Monsters. They’re all monsters.)_

When she was in captivity, locked inside a metal cage on all fours like an animal, she heard the _maunon_ repeatedly refer to her people as blood bags. “This one’s done,” they would say, “get another blood bag off the rack.” A couple of the _maunon_ had even made a game out of picking the next grounder. They would saunter down the aisles, drag their police batons across the length of each cage, and sing: “Eenie, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers let him go. Eenie, meeny, miny… moe!” The _maunon_ would snicker amongst themselves when the person trapped inside the cage tried to scurry away. There was no escape. Everyone in that room knew that the person inside the cage the baton stopped on was going to die.

The memory makes Anya's heart burn. She slams a bloodied hand to her chest and firmly shuts her eyes, keeping a slew of angry tears from dripping down her cheeks.

_No._

She will not cry.

She will endure.

She will strengthen.

And she will return.

She will return to that God forsaken mountain and slaughter every _maunon_ she comes across. She will bleed each one of them dry, just as they did her people, and then she will feed their carcasses to the beasts of the wild. Fire is too good for them. They deserve to be ripped apart. They deserve to be eaten and digested, until there is nothing left of their bodies but the _skrish_ of the animals that had consumed them _._  

Anya will make it to tonDC, even if it is the last thing she does.

The commander needs to know about the fate of her people and, as much as Anya hates to admit it, she also needs to make an alliance with _Klark kom skaikru_. The sky people are the key to infiltrating the mountain. Anya did not understand the technology she had come across in Mt. Weather, but Clarke did. She assumes that the other sky people must understand it as well. That is one of the reasons why she had promised the girl an audience with the commander _._ She may not like the _Skai Prisa_ , but she has come to begrudgingly respect her. Without Clarke, Anya would still be in the mountain, caged like a rabid dog. Or she would be dead, stewing in some _ripa’s_ stomach, or dead in the dirt with a bullet lodged inside her back.

Anya finds the _Skai Prisa_ to be extremely annoying. The girl grates on her nerves with little to no effort, but she would be remiss not to acknowledge the girl’s better qualities. _Klark kom skaikru_ is brave, resilient, and selfless. She has the makings of a great leader. The girl reminds Anya of Lexa in many ways. In another life, Anya might have taken her as a second. Not that Anya will ever admit that out load. She’d rather get eaten by a _pauna_ than do that.

The _trikru_ general treks for hours in the dead of night until she feels her legs start to give out. TonDC is still a ways away, and Anya curses her luck when she twists her ankle on a tree root, concealed in the darkness amongst a bed of flora. If her body had not be in such a decrepit state, she would have easily detected it, regardless of its location.

“ _Jok!_ ” Anya roars into the night. Her ankle throbs with her heartbeat: swift, erratic, and thunderous. She tries to put some pressure on her injured foot, lowering it slowly but firmly against the ground. The pain she’s met with is a lot worse than she expected. “ _Jok! Jok! Jok!_ ”

The Beta takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. When her breathing finally evens out, she takes a hard look at her surroundings. She observes the trees around her, studies the stars overhead, and feels the direction of the wind with her fingertips. She gauges her location to be less than half a day’s trek from tonDC. It is too long of a travel for her current state.

“ _Jok_ ,” she curses beneath her breath. If she wants to make it to tonDC sometime tomorrow, she needs to find a healer. She knows that there is a village nearby, situated east of the river. Taking her rapidly swelling ankle into account, it would take about an hour to get there. She’d have to hobble her way across the wilderness. It isn’t the most ideal situation, but Anya knows that if she doesn’t get her injuries treated soon, she wouldn’t be able to reach the commander at all.

TonDC will have to wait.

Reluctantly, Anya sets forth to the east, towards the village she knows Nyko to reside in.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke rejoins the conscious world, she is greeted by a monotonous beeping. The beeps are annoying and incessant, grating on her nerves with each passing second. The noise isn’t particularly loud, but the room is so silent that it might as well be blaring through speakers. The blonde knows where they’re coming from, she had helped her mother enough times in the Ark’s infirmary to know that she’s listening to an EKG machine.

_Okay, that means I made it. I’m still alive. Good. That’s good._

If Clarke were being completely honest, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Earth is as beautiful as it is torturous. While Clarke’s life on the Ark hadn’t exactly been pleasant, it had—at the very least—been stable. There were rules in the Ark. They were strict and Orwellian, but they had provided the Ark’s inhabitants with a sense of security. The consequences were known to all. They knew what to do, or what not to do, to keep themselves alive. On the ground, there were no rules. Everything was up in the air—ironically enough—and while the idea of absolute freedom had been wondrous in the beginning, it has long lost its novelty. The moment that spear pierced Jasper’s chest, Clarke knew that her life was going in the wrong direction. Or at the very least, a very shitty direction. One that brimmed with both uncertainty and pain.

Pain.

Sometimes she thinks that’s all she can feel anymore. Ever since she reached the ground, she was either terrified or in pain. If her father only knew what Earth was truly like, he would never have told her those stories that glorified it as some enduring utopia. Earth is hell, and nobody can tell her otherwise.

“Clarke?” Abby’s voice echoes through the room.

The girl blinks her eyes open, only to immediately close them. The med bay isn’t particularly bright—most of the Ark’s generators were destroyed during the crash, and were rerouted to power only the most vital machinery—but the shift from complete darkness to sudden illumination is abrupt enough to burn her retinas.

“Ugh…” Clarke tries to shield her eyes with her right forearm, but she quickly realizes that moving the appendage brought about a dizzying amount of pain. “Fuck,” she grunts hoarsely. Her time on Earth has done a number on her vocabulary.

“Don’t move Clarke. You’ve sustained a lot of injuries.” Abby’s tone is professional, yet warm. She speaks to Clarke with a tenderness reminiscent of a mother soothing a crying pup.

“Mom,” the young Alpha groans. “Tell me, how bad is it?”

The doctor fiddles with the I.V. bag before she turns to meet her daughter’s half-lidded eyes. The tiredness she sees in them makes her forget her words. Clarke looks exhausted beyond belief. The older Alpha reaches out and caresses the girl’s cheek on instinct, an overwhelming need to protect and comfort surges within her. She makes sure to lighten her touch when she reaches the angry red wounds marring her daughter’s beautiful face. Clarke’s eyes flutter at her touch, and Abby has to choke back a sob.

The girl looks so much older than her years.

Clarke looks like she’s been through hell and back. Her eyes speak of loss, disillusionment, and a melancholia too great for a single person to bear. This isn’t the life Abby had envisioned for her daughter. She thought Clarke was going to follow in her footsteps; become a doctor, then join the council once she was old enough. Clarke has always been brilliant, and she has always been good. The girl harbors a pure soul, just like her father did. She always tries her best to help, always tries to fix things even when things seem unfixable, and always sees the good in people even when there is little to no good left. Clarke deserves better than this.

“Mom?” The girl rasps.

“Sorry.” Abby clears her throat as she tucks her sadness away. She takes a deep breath and dons a mask of pure professionalism. “You’ve suffered several lacerations to your face and body,” she states, pointing at the lesions even though Clarke couldn’t see them. “A few bruised ribs, a GSW to your right deltoid muscle, which resulted in some significant blood loss.” Abby gestures to the blood bag hanging from the stand next to the saline solution. “You were lucky, you know. The bullet didn’t rupture any major nerves, so you’ll most likely make a full recovery.” Clarke makes a strange grunting sound in response, and Abby smiles for a split-second before continuing with the rest of her diagnosis. “And, you were also severely dehydrated.”

The last part makes Clarke laugh. She had almost drowned when she leapt from that dam and now she finds out that she’s dehydrated? That is just too funny. Her amusement is short-lived, however, when her bruised ribs finally decided to announce their presence. Clarke’s soft chuckles quickly turns into pained whimpers.

_Okay, so laughing hurts now too. Great._

The blonde had been so hopped up on adrenaline that she’d been able to ignore her ribs during her trek to camp. Anya had probably bruised them when they had gotten into that fight.

_Oh my God, Anya!_

Clarke jerkily sits up, momentarily forgetting how much pain any type of movement brings. She bites her bottom lip raw when that truth makes itself known.

Abby is by her side in an instant.

“Clarke! What did I tell you about moving?!”

The girl grunts in acquiescence. “Right… I know.” She takes a deep breath and quickly realizes that breathing hurts too, so she begins to take shallow gulps of air instead.

“Mom, I was with someone.” She mutters. “A woman. Where is she?”

Abby’s brows furrow in confusion. “What woman? You were alone when we found you.”

Clarke gives sigh of relief. _That’s good. That means Anya made it. She can go to her commander and together, we can get our people out of Mount Weather._ The memory of Mount Weather makes her muscles stiffen. She ignores the pain that ransacks her body and takes a hold of her mother’s wrist with her left hand, jostling the tubes attached to her forearm.

“Clarke. You need to rest.” Abby growls, using her Alpha dominance to get Clarke to comply. “Stop moving or you’ll make your injuries worse.”

“No! No mom! You don’t—I can’t just...” Clarke wills herself to calm down so that she could form a semi-coherent sentence. “I was at Mount Weather,” she says after a beat, “the others are there… they’re in danger!”

Abby is taken aback by her daughter’s wide and frantic eyes. A sense of dread bubbles in her stomach. She’s never seen Clarke so scared before. The girl looks even more terrified than she did when Abby had sent her down in a century-old dropship, into a possibly toxic planet, with only a bunch of teenage criminals for company. Whatever Clarke had seen in that mountain had scared her to the bone.

“Okay, Clarke.” Abby rests a reassuring hand on the girl’s uninjured shoulder. “Just calm down. Take a couple of breaths and tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”

 

* * *

 

 _Finn’s fucking lost it,_ is all Murphy can think as he watches his friend— _friend? Is this asshole even my friend?—_ shout a slew of commands at the grounders they had rounded up. The shaggy-haired boy has been yelling for the past hour and Murphy is genuinely surprised that the throbbing vein in his neck hasn’t burst yet. Finn is a livid, angst-ridden mess, and Murphy can’t help but wonder when the other shoe is going to drop.

_Shit’s gonna hit the fan soon. I can feel it._

The air is cold and the grounders look murderous. Murphy doesn’t care if he and Finn have guns, those grounders could kill them with sticks if they let them get close enough.

“Finn,” Murphy tries for what feels like the hundredth time, “I don’t think they know where Clarke is.”

The taller boy turns to him with angry eyes. Murphy isn’t sure if the fire he sees in them is simply a reflection of the fire around them, or the manifestation of Finn’s humanity set ablaze. Murphy is acutely aware of what a dying soul looks like. He saw it in his mother’s face after his father was floated, and saw it in the mirror every day since. _Finn’s soul is burning out._ The problem with the revelation is that Murphy doesn’t really know what to do with it. How can he save Finn when couldn’t even save himself?

“They know where she is,” Finn growls through his teeth, “they had her watch!”

“So fucking what?!” Murphy nearly yells. “I have a ton of shit that isn’t mine and I don’t know who, much less where, their fucking owners are!”

“This is different.” Finn mutters. For a moment, he looks like the boy Murphy remembers; the boy who wanted peace and love and everything in-between.

“I can’t lose Clarke. I just can’t.” Finn shakes his head as he looks to the ground. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Murphy wishes he knew what to say, he wishes that he were better at this; at talking to people without slipping insults in-between. He wishes he could fix Finn before the boy could do any more damage. The last thing Camp Jaha needs is another Murphy. The pale boy opens his mouth to give voice to his thoughts but stops when he sees Finn harden his gaze. In an instant, the boy Murphy knew is gone. He is replaced by a man, embittered by the world. Finn grips his rifle like it’s a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat. Murphy wonders if the boy would drown if someone ever took it away.

The brawny teen moves closer to the pen they put the grounders in and glares at the people crouched low on the ground. “Where is she!?” The boy roars, spit flying out of his mouth in every direction. “If none of you tell me where she is, I _will_ start shooting!”

The grounders are as silent and stoic as ever. Their silence further unnerves and infuriates the young Beta. In a brash move, Finn lets out a few rounds into the air. He grins lopsidedly when the grounders finally show some fear, scurrying closer together in an attempt to cover their young.

“If none of you start talking, the next round is going in someone’s head!”

“We do not know where your friend is.” One of the grounders breaks his silence. “We are a farming village.”

“A farming village, huh?” Finn laughs. It sounds angry and hollow. “If you’re all farmers, how come you speak English, huh? I know that only your warriors are taught the language!”

The man doesn’t answer. He just levels the boy with a cold look.

Finn is quickly losing patience. The longer he stays in the village, the less likely he is to find Clarke. The blonde could be in some far off grounder camp, getting tortured for information. They did it to Murphy, what’s to stop them from doing it to Clarke? Finn needs to find the girl as soon as possible. He doesn’t let his mind wander to the alternative, to Clarke already being dead. He has to cling to the hope that she’s alive, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to lose his mind completely.

_No, don’t even go there. She’s alive. She has to be._

The thought of Clarke being dead sets something inside him off. He lifts the barrel of his gun and aims it in-between the eyes of the man who had spoken.

“This is your last warning. If you don’t start talking, I’m going to start killing people.” Despite their impassive expressions, Finn knows that the grounders are afraid. The scent of fear wafting off the huddled group is so strong that the Beta could practically taste it in his mouth. They’re terrified. And yet, no one speaks.

 _Of course,_ Finn thinks. _It’s just never easy with you grounders, is it?_

“Fine.” The teen seethes after a stretched moment of silence. “It didn’t have to be this way, but you’ve left me no choice.”

“Murphy!” He calls out, keeping his eyes trained on the grounders in front of him. “Get ready to shoot.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he tries again.

“Murphy, are you with me or not?” For a second time, the boy is met with nothing.

“Murphy, I swear to God if you left—” When Finn spares a glance over his shoulder, the rest of his sentence dies in his throat. Murphy is slumped face-first on the ground, clearly unconscious.

Before Finn can even think to move, he feels the cold edge of a blade press against his nape. Fear ripples down the length of his spine, freezing him solid from the inside. The person holding the blade applies enough pressure to cause a few drops of blood to trickle down into the collar of his jacket. Finn’s bladder almost gives out when a chilling voice growls into his ear:

“Drop the gun _branwada_ , or I will plunge this blade into your throat, and feed your body to the wolves.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, duuun!


	3. Worlds in Collision

When Murphy finally comes to, he is greeted by a heavy pounding in the back of his skull. He groans as the throbbing intensifies. The boy tries to reach a hand towards his head to help soothe the knot he knows must be forming there, but his attempt at movement brings him to a startling realization. He can’t move his limbs. The revelation sends Murphy’s heart racing into overdrive. The boy opens his steel blue eyes to find that he is no longer outside. There are no stars above him, no grounders round-up in front of him, and his hands are empty and weaponless. He’s in a small hut, hog-tied to a large wooden pillar in the center of the room, devoid of agency.

_Oh no… no, no, no, no, no! Not this again. Anything but this._

He’s found himself in this situation before; right after the delinquents had him exiled from the dropship and the grounders had picked him up. It didn’t end well then, and he is sure that it isn’t going to end well now. In a fit of sheer panic, the Beta begins to struggle violently against his bindings. He doesn’t care that the rope is burning through his skin, leaving angry red marks on his flesh. He doesn’t care that his squirming is exacerbating the throbbing in his skull. All he cares about is breaking free. He flops like a land-locked fish against the pole, rotating counter clock-wise as he goes. He only stops struggling when his shoulder slams into something solid. A grunt resounds through the room, and Murphy realizes that he is not alone. He cranes his neck to the side and sees Finn, hog-tied to the same massive pillar he was just struggling against.

The boy’s head is bent over, but Murphy can see that the grounders have done a number on him. His eyes are nearly swollen shut. Large purple knots protrude angrily from his cheeks, and deep-crimson gashes mark the entirety of his visible flesh. A thick string of blood drips from his open mouth, adding to the small pool beneath him, and it becomes clear to Murphy that his jaw is broken and partially unhinged. The shaggy-haired teen looks like he’s three seconds away from death, leaning lifelessly forward, only kept upright by pole he’s bound to.

“Finn,” Murphy mutters, leaning as close to the boy as he can. “You okay?”

It’s a stupid question, but Murphy needs to know if Finn is coherent enough to respond. The boy in question angles his head enough to give Murphy a hard, unamused look from the corner of his eye. His glare toes the line between incredulousness and rage. _Well…_ Murphy thinks, _that answers that._

The smaller, and significantly less injured, boy makes a quick scan of his surroundings before hissing: “What the _fuck_ happened?”

Finn’s head bobs as he snarls, “Anya.”

The word comes out as a mumbled slur, but Murphy understands. The boy’s already pallid skin pales even further when the name brings forth a slew of unwanted memories. _Fuck!_ Murphy curses. _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_ He is distinctly aware of who Anya is; the woman had beaten him raw the first time he’d been captured. She had torn off his fingernails when she thought he wasn’t telling her enough about his people. In an instant, Murphy is struggling aggressively against his bindings. He doesn’t stop squirming until he hears the sound of footsteps nearing the hut.

A loud rustling soon fills the room when the heavy fur curtain serving as the hut’s door is violently pulled open. A bright light engulfs the space and Murphy has to narrow his eyes to account for the sudden change. Two silhouetted figures enter, and the boy tries his best to make out their features but the blaring light behind them makes it impossible. It isn’t until the furs are pulled back down that Murphy finally gets a good look at the newcomers.

Anya and a large man sporting thick braids, tribal face tattoos, and a bushy unkempt beard, stand at the end of the hut. They’re features are hard, bordering on murderous, as they look upon their captives. Murphy spares a glance at Finn. The terror he’s feeling is clearly reflected on the boy’s disfigured face. Murphy swallows as their captors walk closer, only stopping when they’re an arm’s length away.

“ _Nyko_ ,” Anya’s voice is chilling as she commands, “ _Hod daun_ _dei biga won.” (Nyko, tend to the bigger one.)_

The burly, heavily-tattooed man looks affronted by the demand. Anya takes her gaze off the two teens long enough to give him a hard, uncompromising glare.

 _“Osir don chic hashta dison.”_ She growls. _“Osir gaf in emo kik raun.” (We’ve talked about this. We need them alive.)_

Nyko grinds his teeth as he glares at their captives. He wants nothing more than to burn the two boys alive, but he is honor-bound to obey the woman’s commands. He trusts that Anya knows what she’s doing. She wouldn’t have become a general if she didn’t. After a stretched moment of silence, one that serves to terrify Murphy and Finn even further, Nyko yields to her demand. He takes a wooden container out from one the pockets adorning his leather vest, and walks over to Finn’s restrained form. He crouches in front of the beaten boy and opens the container to reveal a viscous salve. The burly man takes a handful of the balm and reaches for the boy’s face. He isn’t the least bit fazed when Finn recoils from his touch.

“Don’t move.” Anya growls. “He is trying to heal you.”

A derisive snort comes tumbling off Murphy’s lips before he can even think to stop himself. The sound makes Anya turn her attention away from Finn, and Murphy can’t help but gulp when the full force of the woman’s glare is directed straight at him. He is sure that Anya can smell his fear, the bitter stench is blanketing the room in a thick fog, but he straightens his back and puts on a strong and confident front.

“Why the hell would you try to do that?” Murphy all but spits. “In fact, why are we still alive? We don’t have any information to give you, if that’s what you’re looking for. You can torture us all you want, we have nothing.”

He sees Finn glowering at him from his periphery. The boy’s face is shiny with salve, but he still manages to look menacing. The shaggy-haired teen clearly disagrees with the direction Murphy is taking; however, his broken jaw makes any type of speech unbearable, so he has no other choice than to let Murphy speak on his behalf. It’s a situation Finn wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

“I do not seek information,” Anya replies after a beat. Her tone is cold and calm and so much more terrifying than before. “Under normal circumstances, you would both be dead...” She glares at Finn as she continues, “…your transgressions warrant a slow and painful death.”

The matter-of-fact way she says it makes the boys’ skin crawl.

“So…” Murphy’s voice trembles as he questions, “what’s changed?”

The lanky teen does his best to maintain her gaze, but it’s proving to be extremely difficult. Anya is one of the most intimidating people Murphy has ever had the displeasure of meeting. He isn’t sure what it is about the woman that makes her so terrifying. By all accounts, she’s just another Beta. Her aura shouldn’t be this dominant or aggressive. _Maybe it’s a grounder thing,_ Murphy thinks. _Whatever it is, she scares the shit out of me._

The woman clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, clearly annoyed by the boy’s chatter. Nyko eyes her from where he’s crouched. He’d taken a few herbs from his satchel and is in the process of making a poultice to treat Finn’s deeper wounds. Anya spares him a glance before she turns her attention back to Murphy.

“I have made a…” Anya mulls over the right translation in her head, “… _provisional_ truce with your commander, _Klark.”_

Finn’s head snaps up at the mention of Clarke, and Nyko has to grip him by hair to keep him in place. The boy tries to speak, but the healer pushes his jaw shut. “Do not move. Do not talk.” Nyko growls in heavily accented English. “You will make your injuries worse.”

Finn sends Murphy a desperate look, and Murphy knows exactly what he’s asking for.

“You’ve talked to Clarke?” Murphy enquires, as he turns his attention back to the woman. “Is she okay?”

Anya does not respond immediately. She merely studies Finn for a moment. The intense reaction he had after hearing Clarke’s name has piqued the woman’s interest. _Disha Beta skat eintheing loda gon skai gada,_ Anya thinks, _Ai fig raun taim whichnes ste komba raun._ She files the information away for another day and brings her gaze back to Murphy. _(This Beta boy cares a great deal for the sky girl. I wonder if the sentiment is returned.)_

“Yes, we have spoken.” Anya states in a cool tone. She watches Finn squirm in the corner of her eye. Nyko is trying to wrap a poultice across the boy’s cheek, but the teen is shuffling too much for it to stick correctly.

“Last I saw her,” Anya continues, “she was at your camp.” The words ‘where we were being shot at’ do not leave her lips. She has a strong feeling that the blonde Alpha is still alive. The _Skai Prisa_ is too stubborn to die.

“Camp Jaha?” Murphy asks with a furrowed brow. “Why were you even there?”

Anya grinds her teeth at the question, she really doesn’t have time for this. She needs to make her way to tonDC as soon as possible. This whole thing is simply a formality; an olive branch designed to show her willingness to forging a truce.

“It does not matter why I was there,” She growls, “all you need to know is that I am sending you home.”

Murphy’s brows furrow even further. “Because of Clarke?”

“Enough of this!” Anya roars. The hut’s walls practically vibrate with her words.

_Hogeda skai kru disha nochof? (Are all sky people this ungrateful?)_

“I will have runners escort you back to camp.” She walks swiftly towards the hut’s entrance, an imperceptible limp in her gait. When she reaches the fur curtain separating the hut from the outside world, she turns her head, and level the boys with a cold, hard glare.

“This is the only act of mercy I will grant you.” Anya warns in a tone so cold that every hair on Murphy’s body stands in attention.

“If you attack my people again,” She snarls, bearing all four of her canines. “I _will_ hunt you down, and I _will_ kill you.”

When the woman exits the hut, Murphy lets out a strangled breath. He slackens against his bindings, willing his racing heart to slow down. The organ feels like it’s trying to hammer its way out of his ribcage. He spares Finn a glance and he just knows that the same thought is flitting through the boy’s brain:

_Holy. Fucking. Shit._

* * *

  

When Clarke awakens in the morning, the first person to greet her is Raven. The Beta had limped into the med bay, scanning the room with wide and eager eyes. The moment her gaze found Clarke, her lips broke into a huge grin. She raced towards the girl as quickly as her injured leg would allow, and enveloped the blonde in a loose embrace. Abby had warned her about the girl’s injuries the night before, so Raven made sure to handle the Alpha with care, even if all she wanted to do was glomp the blonde.

“Holy shit,” she exclaims against Clarke’s ear, “I thought you were dead!”

The Alpha chuckles softly, careful not to jostle her ribs. She untangles herself from the Beta’s arms and replies: “Nope. Still alive.”

Raven’s smile turns into a grimace when she finally gets a good look at the girl. From afar, Clarke had looked injured. From up close, she looked absolutely decimated. “Dude,” Raven comments, “you look _horrible_. Like, just-got-hit-by-a-bus-and-the-bus-backed-up horrible.”

“Gee, thanks.” The blonde comments wryly, “You always know what to say to make a girl feel special.”

“Eh,” Raven shrugs with a smirk, “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

Clarke can’t help but grin. _Raven is just so Raven sometimes_. The blonde’s smile wanes, however, when she spots the metal brace adorning her friend’s leg. The mechanic waves Clarke’s concerned expression away. “Don’t worry, about it.” She says. “Compared to you, I’m practically perfect. You seriously need to see a mirror. You look like Frankenstein’s bride.”

Raven’s joke lands flat, and Clarke’s expression remains solemn. “I’m going to kill Murphy.” The Alpha mutters after a beat.

“Please,” Raven counters with a small smile, “You’re like the softest Alpha I know. You’re not killing anybody.”

Clarke bristles at the comment. “What are you talking about? I can be hard if I want to.”

The blonde’s affronted expression only serves to make Raven’s smile grow. “Yeah, you could. And yeah, you have. But you’ll always be soft and squishy in the inside.” The lithe girl pokes at Clarke’s boob to help prove her point.

“Stop that,” Clarke mutters as she swats the girl’s offending hand away.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Raven says off-handedly, “Most Alphas are annoying as hell with their ‘I’m top dog’ bullshit. I mean, you do that too sometimes, but never for kicks. There’s always a reason behind it.”

When Clarke’s brows furrow, Raven explains, “I’m just sayin’ you’re tender-hearted, is all. Which is a good thing. Hell, Octavia’s harder than you and she’s just another Beta.”

“Octavia is a freak of nature.” Clarke dead-pans. “Speaking of, where is Octavia? In fact, where’s everyone? Are they still asleep?”

Raven looks confused at her questions. “Did Abby not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We got a distress signal from one of the Ark stations.”

“What?” Clarke sits up at the news, ignoring the sharp pangs her movement brings. “How did you manage to get a signal?”

“Well, long story short, we managed to get a signal because I’m an _amazing_ and _genius_ mechanic. I’m gahmazing, if you will.” Raven preens. Clarke playfully rolls her eyes at the girl’s antics. Raven’s confidence never ceases to amaze her.

“So anyways, being the gahmazing mechanic that I am. I built this whole radio set-up. Wick helped, but it was mostly me. It was like twenty percent Wick, eighty percent me. No, ten percent Wick, ninety percent me. You know what? Scratch that, it was one hundred percent me.”

Clarke can’t help but roll her eyes again.

“In a nutshell,” Raven continues, “We found a signal using the tower that I built, alone, with my beautiful, bare hands. And then Bellamy, Octavia, Finn, Murphy, and the rest of the sunshine gang decided to investigate. Don’t worry, they’re armed to the teeth. I woulda helped look, but, you know.” Raven pats her brace, and Clarke nods in understanding.

“So…” Raven says after a beat, “Where the hell have _you_ been?”

Clarke leans her head against her pillow and sighs. She takes a readying breath before she tells Raven everything she had told her mother, the night before. The girl gasps at every dramatic event, her knuckles white with tension as she grips the rails of Clarke’s medical bed. By the time Clarke is done with her story, the Beta’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Whoa,” is all Raven can say for a while. “Whoa… That’s… that’s intense. They’re just up there, living like mole people?”

“Yeah... the whole thing is insane.” Clarke mutters. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“Shit. That’s… shit.” Raven curses under her breath. “So… what happens now?”

“Now,” The young Alpha exhales, “we wait for Anya to make good on her promise.”

“Anya?” The mechanic scowls, “You mean the chick with the swords that tried to kill us?”

“Yup.” Clarke affirms, as she leans further back into her pillow. “That’s the one.”

“Wait, you actually trust that woman?” Raven voice is abnormally high-pitched as she asks the question.

“It’s not so much that I trust her _._ I just trust that we want the same thing. We both want to take down Mt. Weather and we both want to get our people back.” Clarke states tiredly. “You know that old saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice.” Raven says as she climbs into Clarke’s small bed, swinging her legs over the railing with surprising ease. The blonde scoots towards the edge, giving the other girl enough room to lie down. “So…” The Beta mutters, once she’s made herself comfortable next to Clarke, “You think she’ll actually go to her commander and try and get a truce happening with us and the grounders?”

“Well…” Clarke sighs, “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You know,” Raven says after a moment of silence, “Kane went off to their ‘home-base’ or whatever to offer some kind of alliance.”

“What?” Clarke swiftly turns her head to look Raven in the eye. “He went to try and make peace with the grounders?”

“Yeah. He decided to use one of the grounders we kidnapped as a guide.” Raven chuckles at the bewildered look Clarke throws at her. “It’s a long story. Also, a bad idea. I mean, that guy can’t possibly be happy. But yeah, Kane left sometime yesterday, and he isn’t back yet. So, you know, that can’t be good.”

Clarke lets the new information sink in before she settles back into her pillow. The Alpha makes a non-committal grunt as she says, “That’s okay… I never liked Kane to begin with.”

“He’s actually pretty cool now,” Raven says. The girl laughs at the look of utter disbelief that appears on Clarke’s face. “I don’t know what happened, but he isn’t half the dick he used to be. He’s super mellow now.”

“Kane? Mellow?” If Clarke hadn’t been confused before, she’s definitely confused now. “He was brutal on the Ark.”

Raven just shrugs. “People change sometimes, even when they don’t want to. Life just has a way of wearing people down.”

The somberness of the girl’s tone startles Clarke. She has never heard Raven sound so flat or hollow. The Beta was a bubble of mischievous energy, tenacious and borderline aggressive in her engagement of life. Now, she is anything but vibrant. Now, she is solemn and diminished. Raven lacks the same effervescence that had greeted Clarke when she had opened that escape pod door. Back then, the girl had been so vivacious that she had managed to grin through a serious head injury, waving off her near-death experience as though it were a common occurrence. The blonde chances a glance at Raven from the corner of her eye. The Beta looks distant and pensive, and Clarke just _knows_ that Raven isn’t talking about Kane anymore. She’s talking about all of them.

 _She’s right though,_ Clarke thinks, as she traces the metal scaffolding of the med bay with her eyes. _Life has a way of wearing us all down._

* * *

  

“There can be no understanding between Sky People and Tree People,” Indra seethes, as she glares daggers at the _Skayon_ named Kane. “We are born of different worlds.”

“We are born of different worlds,” the man explains, his tone bordering on desperate, “But we have to share one world.” Kane gives the commander a pleading look when he states, “ _Skaikru en Trikru ogeda.”_

His words make Indra want to spit. The man reeks of rust, stale air, and weakness, and yet here he stands, before Indra and her _Heda_ ¸ demanding peace. If he thinks that learning a few words in _Trigedasleng_ will help his cause, he is sorely mistaken. _Trikru_ does not take kindly to weakness, much less the implorations of a cowardly fool.

“ _Shof op, branwada!_ ” Indra growls, as she invades the man’s space. “You know _nothing_ of our ways!” _(Shut up, fool.)_

Kane tries not to recoil, but the bite with which the Alpha says her words makes him take an instinctive step back. The Beta in him demands that he submit. Indra’s grimace turns into a victorious smirk when she notices the slight but perceptible bow the man’s spine has curved into.

_Chit bilaik kwel Beta. Chill flosh kiln. (What a weak Beta. Easy to break.)_

Lexa sits upon her throne—regal, stoic, and unmoving—as she watches the chief of tonDC interact with the _Skayon_ Marcus Kane. The two have been arguing through the night. The dark-skinned Alpha had taken an easy disliking to the man, the moment he had set foot in her village. If Lexa weren’t in the same tent, supervising their interaction, she is sure that the warrior would have killed him by now. He would’ve been gutted and left for the vultures, hours ago. Lexa glances at Gustus from the corner of her eye. The Alpha stands tall by her side, every bit the sentry he has vowed to be. The man catches her gaze and immediately knows what she is asking. Gustus steps into the fray, lifting a large hand in-between Indra and Kane.

“Enough.” He declares. His voice is calm but laced with strength. “We do not bicker like pups in front of _Heda.”_

His comment makes Indra bristle. She is not a pup. She is a village _chieftain_ , and she refuses to be addressed as anything less. The woman snarls at Gustus, bearing her teeth like a cornered animal. Gustus immediately does the same. Kane eyes the two warily as he takes a few steps back, unconsciously sending a gust of calming Beta pheromones into the air. Gustus and Indra do not appreciate the intrusion, and turn to him with matching snarls adorning their already terrifying faces. Kane is suddenly glad that he didn’t have much to drink while he was imprisoned, because if he did, he is sure that he would have ruined his pants. After he makes a conscious effort to dim down his pheromone production, the Alphas stare each other down once more. Their snarls are still in place, and they’ve started growling at one another. The air in the room grows thick with the acrid smell of two contending Alphas. It is only when they have started circling around one another that Lexa intervenes.

“ _Daun ste pleni.”_ She says dully, raising an upturned hand as though the situation bored her. _(That is enough.)_

The two Alphas glower at one another before acquiescing. Indra moves to the edge of the tent furthest from Kane, her glare unwavering as she takes her place. The command is a blessing in disguise. Indra had been seconds away from throttling Gustus, and the commander would not have been happy had she done so. Gustus spares Indra another glance before he takes his rightful place by the commander’s side. When he reaches his destination, he turns and stands as still as a statue, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. With his legs slightly apart and his hands held tightly against his back, Gustus is a study in stoicism. If Kane didn’t know him to be an actual person, he would have thought the man to be made of stone. It doesn’t help that Gustus looks especially unreal next to the smaller girl seated upon the throne. His enormous form towers over her, casting a shadow over her features like a human parasol.

If one were to go by appearances alone, one would surmise Gustus to be the commander, but Kane has recently discovered that no matter how large or how _Alpha_ Gustus may be, he will never be as powerful as the girl seated upon the throne. _This young woman, no,_ Kane thinks, _this_ **_child_** _happens to be the most powerful person in all of grounder culture._ The revelation of Lexa being the commander had startled Kane greatly—though not as greatly as it did Thelonious, whose whereabouts were currently unknown to him. The fact that an entire army of large, imposing, and savage warriors were being led by a young girl, an _Omega_ no less, was mind-boggling. Kane isn’t entirely sure how grounders choose their leaders, but in a very short time, it has become clear to him that no matter how young or how _Omega_ Lexa might be, her people look up to her with an admiration typically reserved for a god.

 _Maybe that’s what she is to them,_ he ponders _. They see her as some kind of deity._ Kane has never been religious, his mother’s zealotry had dampened religion’s appeal a long time ago. However, he has seen enough of it to know what faith and devotion looks like. His mother and her followers held it in their eyes as they repeated scripture, and the grounders held it in theirs whenever they looked upon their commander. _Any chance of peace between our people lays in her hands._

“Commander,” Kane speaks, after everything has settled down inside the tent. “I implore you to at least consider peace. We can benefit greatly from one another.”

Indra scoffs from her place, looking utterly unamused at his words.

Lexa levels the woman with a hard gaze before turning her attention to Kane. She is silent for a moment, simply studying the man. Kane can’t help but shuffle his feet. The commander might just be a child, but her aura held more power and intensity than Indra and Gustus combined.

“My warriors are watching your camp.” She states in a calm yet chilling manner. “They move guns to the wall.”

“Commander, with all due respect,” Kane begins, his tone bordering on desperate once more, “When my people are threatened, our first instinct is to defend ourselves.” He spares Indra and Gustus a glance before finishing his thought. “In that, we are very much like you. Give my people more time.”

“Time to strengthen your defenses?” Lexa counters.

“No, time to understand that if we want to survive in this new world, we must learn to work together.”

“We have survived this world just fine.” Indra growls. “It is your people that have trouble surviving. We need nothing from you, but your death.”

“Commander—” Kane tries.

“Indra is right.” Lexa interjects. “We have survived just fine. You have nothing to offer my people.”

“That—that isn’t true.” Kane tries once more. “We have medicine, technology, weapons—”

“We do not need your weapons.” Indra roars. “ _Fayogon frag osir kru op!_ ” _(Guns kill our people!)_

Lexa spares the woman a glance, before looking at Kane. Her expression is stern, lacking the calmness it held when negotiations first began. “We do not want your _guns_.” She spits through her teeth. “If you truly wish to seek peace, you must destroy all of your weapons. Only then, can we speak of peace.”

“Commander… I don’t think my people will be open to destroying their guns, when there is an army of a thousand laying wait outside our gates.”

“Then,” Lexa growls, “Your people will die.”

“But so will yours.” Kane counters. “We are fewer in number, but we have the technology to take out at least half of your army before they can even reach our gates.”

His words make Lexa grow silent. She gives Kane an indefinable look as leans into her throne, resting her elbows on its wooden arms. There is a small tilt to her head, when she asks: “Is that a threat?”

“No. No, of course not.” Kane shakes his head, raising his hands to show that he means no offense. “I’m just stating a fact. A lot of lives are on the line, on both our sides. I don’t think we need to lose any more than we already have.”

“There are always casualties in war.” Lexa states calmly. “That is simply how war works.”

“Yes, but we don’t need to be at war.” The Beta counters. “We can be at peace. We just need to learn how to compromise.”

“Compromise?” Indra spits. “We are _Trikru._ We compromise with no one.”

Kane decides to ignore her. “Commander, please reconsi—”

His words are interrupted by a loud commotion right outside the tent. In an instant, the commander is on her feet, a dagger in hand. Gustus and Indra have taken fighting positions, swords unsheathed, as they look upon the tent entrance with fierce expressions. In a matter of seconds, the flaps are pulled open to reveal a lithe, sharp-featured woman. The three grounders swiftly move forward to attack, until they fully register who it is that just entered. The three look utterly stunned by the woman’s presence. _Whoever this person is_ , Kane thinks, _she just managed to freeze three very powerful people at their tracks_. Kane isn’t sure if he should stay-put within the tent or just take his chances and run. _This situation could turn ugly real quick_.

It isn’t until Lexa opens her mouth that he gets his answer.

“ _Onya_.” The girl’s voice is soft and reverent. The dagger she’s clutching falls to her side, as she walks towards the newcomer in muted awe. Once she’s close enough, Lexa envelops the woman in a tight embrace. Kane is dumb-struck. He has never seen this side of the commander, sans the time she was acting like a slave. Lexa is practically trembling, as she clutches onto the woman like she’s about to fade away. The hug only lasts for a few seconds, but it is long enough for Kane to see that Lexa is, in fact, a human being and not some god-like entity. The moment the girl pulls away though, she re-dons her icy façade. If Kane had been in front of the girl, he would’ve seen the tenderness in Lexa’s gaze. The girl could never learn how to keep her emotions from showing through her eyes.

“ _Onya_ ,” Lexa starts, after clearing her throat of any lingering sentiment. “ _Chit kom yu don au?” (Anya, what happened to you?”)_

Anya opens her mouth to answer until she notices the stranger in the room. Her gaze flits to Kane, a man dressed like one of the _maunon._ Her eyes harden as she asks her late second: “ _Chon jok dison bilaik?_ ” _(Who the fuck is this?)_

Lexa lets the expletive slide as she gestures at Kane. “This is Marcus Kane of the Sky People. He wishes to make peace.”

“Hello.” Marcus says in greeting, lifting his forearm for the woman to take. Anya merely glares at his arm, before she brings her attention back to Lexa, ignoring the man’s presence completely.

“You should be speaking with _Klark._ ” Anya states. _“_ She is their commander.”

“ _Klark?”_ Lexa questions with a slight tilt of her head. “I have not heard the name.”

“Wait,” Kane interjects. “Are you talking about Clarke Griffin? She’s alive?”

Anya doesn’t spare him a glance.

“Okay. I don’t know where you heard that, but Clarke is not our commander.” Kane explains with a shake of his head. “Clarke’s just a kid.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows that he’s said the wrong thing. The commander stares at him with a frown, and the woman named Anya gives him a scathing glare that makes Indra’s glares look friendly in comparison.

“That _kid,_ ” Anya growls, “burned three hundred of my warriors alive.”

Kane is floored by the new information. He wasn’t aware of the extremes the delinquents had to take to ensure their survival. _No wonder they looked so haunted._ The few delinquents he had seen looked like living ghosts. They were disheveled and war-weary, lacking both energy and optimism, despite the fact that the Ark—or parts of it, anyway—had made its way to the ground.

Anya’s statement intrigues Lexa. She gives the woman an inquisitive look as she asks: “She burned three hundred of our people alive, and yet you wish for me to speak with her?”

Anya gives her _Heda_ a firm nod. “I was held captive in the mountain.”

Indra, Gustus, and Lexa go wide-eyed at her statement. A tense silence engulfs the room, and Kane isn’t stupid enough to try and break it. Whatever the grounders are talking about, is clearly of grave importance.

“No one escapes the mountain.” Indra states after a beat. “Everyone who are taken go missing, or are turned into _ripas._ ” The woman snarls the last word as though it were a disease.

“ _Sha, ai get in._ ” Anya replies, as she moves her gaze between the three grounders in the room. She clenches her jaw before stating, “I would not have escaped, had it not been for _Klark kom Skaikru._ ” The words leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but she knows that they need to be said. _“Osir tenia ron op.” (Yes, I know. We escaped together.)_

Lexa swallows, eyeing Anya’s battered state, before making her way back to her throne. She needs to sit down. She knows that whatever Anya has to say about the mountain will shake her to her core.

“What of our people?” Lexa asks, after taking a deep and readying breath.

Anya can’t help but growl. “Our people are being kept in cages like animals. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of them. The _maunon_ are bleeding them dry.” Anya wills herself to calm down before continuing her account. “The mountain men are weak. They need our blood to survive. Once they have taken enough, they send our people down into _trakas_ to feed the _ripas._ ”

Lexa’s knuckles are white by the time Anya finishes. She grips her throne’s armrests as though they’re the _maunon’s_ necks. She wishes that they were. She wishes that she had her hands around a couple of _maunon_ just so she could kill them herself. Indra and Gustus aren’t taking the news well either. Both Alphas are bearing their teeth, growling in tandem as they think about the fate of their people. Kane looks like he’s about to throw up, albeit for different reasons. The tent is thick with the stench of anger. The spicy aroma is bouncing off the animal-skin walls like it’s a living thing, growing and multiplying with every passing second. It makes Kane gag.

“They have Sky People, as well.” Anya says after a beat.

Kane’s eyes widen at the implication. He gulps down his bile and asks: “Why? Why do they have them?”

“I do not know.” Anya answers, finally acknowledging Kane’s presence, “But _Klark_ knows. Whatever the _maunon’s_ reasons, they cannot be good. The girl wants to free your people as badly as I want to free mine.”

Anya turns her attention back to her commander _._ “The _Sky Heda_ wants to propose a truce between our people. She wants us to take down the _maunon_ together. Her people have the technology we need to cripple the mountain’s defenses.”

Lexa grinds her teeth as she weighs her options. A truce between the two peoples could have its benefits, but she isn’t sure if _Skaikru_ could be trusted. They are like the _maunon_ in many ways. What if she ends up exchanging one enemy over another? _Skaikru_ are few in number, but they also once commanded the skies. Their technology is far superior to the _maunon’s._ While she may have looked confident when she spoke to Kane about war, she dreaded coming head-to-head with the Sky People. They were a new threat, unknown in many ways. She doesn’t know what they're capable of. The _maunon_ may be brutal, but they are also predictable. She knows what to expect from them.

Gustus, Indra, and Kane exchange worried glances as they await Lexa's decision.

“She helped me escape the mountain.” Anya states once more, breaking the silence that has engulfed the room. “If she managed to get us out, she can manage to get us in.”

Anya’s words must’ve done the trick, because seconds later, Lexa is standing from her throne. The girl looks even more imposing now that she is standing atop her dais, towering over Kane as though he is nothing but an ant.

“Kane,” Lexa starts in a clam yet commanding tone, lifting her chin as she speaks, “I am sending you back to your camp with your… _friend_.”

“But… what about our talks of peace?” Kane questions. “We haven’t reached an agreement.”

“And we will not reach an agreement.” Lexa counters with a quirk of her brow.

“What?” Kane opens his mouth to argue further, but the commander silences him with a raised hand.

“Any talks I will have from here on out will be with your commander—”

“But she’s no—” Kane’s outburst is stopped by Anya’s, Indra’s, and Gustus’ combined glares.

No one interrupts _Heda_ as she is speaking.

“I’m sorry...” Kane mutters, as he bows his head in a clear show of submission.

Lexa grits her teeth for a moment, eyeing the man with barely concealed scorn, before continuing her earlier statement. “As I was saying, any talks I will have will be with your commander, and no one else. I expect you to bring her to my camp sometime tomorrow.”

She sits back into her throne as she speaks, staring at Kane with an intensity that makes him gulp.

“I think it is time that I meet this… _Klark.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that's finally gonna happen. :D


End file.
